


Fake as Plastic, Fragile as Glass (on indefinite hiatus)

by aidyr



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boscha Needs A Hug, Boscha has the mouth of a sailor lmao, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Romance, Self-Hatred, lowkey venting with this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidyr/pseuds/aidyr
Summary: "She needed to leave, the rain was coming, her scars itched, she wanted to lay down, nap, and forget about life for a little while but… "Boscha was revered by the students of Hexside, she wielded power over her classmates — for all the good that did her, to have power over a hoard of oily, hormonal, angst-bucket teenagers — and she exuded an aura of confidence so sharp you couldcutyourself on it.(on indefinite hiatus)...She wasn't as happy or confident as liked to make out. She wasn't as cool, collected, or in control as she pretended to be. And when she runs into Willow on her way home after a particularly rough day at school, her cracks may finally be put on display for somebody other than herself to see.Maybe she'll finally be able to make kintsugi of the broken pieces.
Relationships: Boscha/Willow Park
Comments: 30
Kudos: 242





	1. Itch

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Implied self-harm

The day had been a long and tiresome one; never let it be said that the darling pink diva was one to let a teeny bit of stress remove the pep from her step, but the past several weeks had all been testing her patience. Every minute Boscha kept up her unflappable public image of plastic confidence was another minute which pushed her closer to dropping out and sleeping until her 20th birthday. It had started when Amity Blight — formally Hexside’s most notorious rich-bitch — had seemingly woken up one morning to decide she no longer cared about her social standing. Boscha had pretended not to mind at first, but seeing the talented young witch goofing around with the loser posse on a daily basis had begun to eat away at her. The triclops would sooner die than admit it aloud, but her respect for Amity made it difficult to accept the loss of her companionship.

She was trudging home from school, and as thoughts about mountains of schoolwork, Amity’s betrayal, her bastard mother, the embarrassment she felt after her grudgby game against the human all began to pile up… the marred, rosy flesh hidden by her yellow leggings began to itch. She grimaced and continued to walk.

Chewing her bottom lip was a poor substitution for what she _truly_ felt like doing after such a shitty day but… well, there wasn’t much she could do in the middle of the Titan-damned woods. The winding path she took every afternoon was secluded and hidden from crowds, but she didn’t wanna take any chances. Patience is a virtue though, and she could wait a little longer to indulge her stupid, pointless means of stress relief.

Sighing in a way she’d never let anyone hear, Boscha paused her journey home to take a breather. She could feel a familiar, gurgling, writhing ball of nervous energy as it crept up her throat. “For the love of—” Boscha quietly cursed herself, “now is _not_ the time for this…” She shook her head, and took several deep breaths.

Her thoughts began to clear.

Her thighs continued to itch.

Looking up at the overcast skies, she knew she’d have to pick up the pace; boiling rains looked to be coming in fast. The last thing she needed was the be caught in the middle of a storm,

 _—Although,_ a questionable voice chimed in, _I could lay down and let what happens happen… At least I wouldn’t have to listen to mom badgering me about my grades again._

Best not to think too hard about what such intrusive thoughts might say or mean.

Boshca pinched the bridge of her nose and took one last deep, centering breath. “Okay,” she mumbled, “gotta get home.” She resumed her trek with as little enthusiasm as possible. Although, if something had managed to get her into a better mood, it’d be the delightful pre-storm air around her; warm and breezy and calming in a nostalgic, difficult to articulate way. “Sunny days are overrated,” she declared to herself.

* * *

Boscha regretted not leaving earlier. There were now tiny droplets of scalding drizzle falling and burning the grasses around her. She was about fifteen minutes away from her house and knew the rain would likely pick up before she got there.

Skara had insisted she hang around campus to chat for a little while, and for some idiotic reason, Boscha obliged. “That’ll teach me to listen to anything that airhead says,” the potions-witch grumbled. Just as she did, a sizzling droplet of rain splashed her nose and she cursed at the burning tingle it left behind.

Boscha decided then and there that it was time to sprint.

Just as she was about to take off however, a noise caught her attention. She paused, her pointed ears swiveling toward the sound. She practically begged herself to ignore it and rush home before the oncoming storm cooked her alive but… her gut twisted in an unpleasant way. Under her searing breath, she mumbled a string of expletives which could curse Emperor Belos himself and with an impressively irritable grimace, walked off the path towards whatever/whoever was hiding behind the brush.

It didn’t take long to recognize the sound as somebody’s pathetic sobbing and it took even less time to conclude that emotions were nothing but a burden and her life would be easier without them (though frankly, she’d already come to that bitter epiphany a few times in the last month or so.)

She kicked her way through one last bush and who should she see but—

“B-Boscha??”

“Oh… It’s Half-A-Witch…” The two locked eyes, and Boscha felt too many emotions to make sense of. She was still angry at the dorky little plants-witch over the grudgby game, yet at the same time… “Why in the Isles are you lying on the filthy forest floor? You know boiling rain is coming, right? Unless you want your face to look even stupider, you should hurry along.” She huffed, and shoved her hands in her pockets.

Willow sniffed forlornly.

Boscha exhaled and rolled her eyes. “Gods,” she growled and knelt down before the other girl. “Okay, spit it out. The hell’s your problem?”

Willow looked up in shock, and straightened her glasses. “I-I uh…” Her voice cracked in a pitiful way. She sounded like she was in pain… She struggled to get the words out, but eventually was able to inform Boscha that “I… I think… My ankle is broken…”

Boscha raised an eyebrow skeptically. “How’d you manage that?” She tried not to remember Amity’s broken foot or that it’d been her fault. She hadn’t meant for that to happen. She didn’t mean to actually, like, _seriously_ hurt anyone… Guilt clawed at her chest.

Willow’s face was unreadable aside from clear distress and pain, but Boscha couldn’t tell what she might’ve been feeling toward her specifically. She picked up a staff and held it towards the triclops. “Um… A bird… Hit us while we were flying.” The palisman nodded solemnly in agreement. “We sorta had a crash landing.”

“Huh.” Boscha looked down at the wooden creature and tilted her head, “I didn’t know you had a staff.”

“It belongs t-to my dads…”

“Gotcha.”

Boscha’s gaze hesitantly lingered on Willow’s tear streaked face before traveling downwards toward her injury. Another drop of rain landed on the back of her neck, and Boscha had to bite her tongue. She needed to leave, the rain was coming, her scars itched, she wanted to lay down, nap, and forget about life for a little while but… 

Willow couldn’t fly and certainly wasn’t able to walk. And while Boscha disliked her immensely, it’s not as though she wanted her to die in the middle of a storm. “Uuuuuggggh…” She closed her eyes and stood up, facing away from the fallen witch. “Okay loser, you’re literally going to get fried if you keep laying there in the mud. Get on the damn stick, I’ll fly us to my house.”

Willow’s mouth hung agape. “Wh- Really??”

Boscha wanted to be offended by how surprised she sounded but couldn’t muster the energy to feel upset. “Yeah yeah, don’t piss yourself. I guess the bar is pretty low if saving you from boiling rain is out of character.”

“Well… I-I mean… I…”

“Zip it.” Boscha snapped. “I get it, I’m a bitch, whatever. Just…” She held out her hand and waited for Willow to take it. “Come on, I get the feeling we’re running out of time here.”

“Uh… R-right.” Willow grabbed Boscha’s hand and was slowly helped upright. She leaned against Boscha in an unfathomably awkward manner — as if unsure how much she could touch the bully without risking a second broken ankle.

“C’mon dillweed, we don’t have all day.”

Willow nodded and sheepishly leaned further into Boscha’s body. While the staff was being positioned beneath them, Boscha could feel Willow’s stare; it was burning holes into the back of her head. Though, after several moments of uncomfortable silence, Willow broke the tension with a meek “Thank you Boscha…”

“Y-yeah… Don’t mention it.”

 _Seriously,_ Boscha’s mind echoed, _never mention it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one down! Mmmm you smell that? That's the smell of good ol' hurt/comfort romance.
> 
> I stan Boscha. Y'all gotta leave my bitchy little triclops alone. :') And yes, I did use the "character A runs into an injured character B in the woods" again as the setup. SHHH.
> 
> Anyways, as you can probably predict just from this chapter and the tags, this fic is gonna get a little heavy. Read at your own discretion lovelies. Now then... ANGST TIME.


	2. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So uh... they couldn't outrun the rain. Rip.
> 
> The girls are stuck, underneath a rock, waiting for the storm to pass.

In Titan’s never ending quest to make Boscha’s life as miserable as possible, it’d seem she overestimated her ability to outrun the storm. Biting splashes of searing rain began to fall more frequently, and Boscha growled upon the realization that they’d need to take cover or risk serious injury.

The two had only been flying for a couple minutes when the rains became more severe. Boscha’s plan was to contact plant-dads the moment they’d arrived at their destination, but it’d seem her sudden show of chivalry would be prolonged a little longer. Much to her chagrin of course, since all she wanted was to go home, scratch that troublesome itch wriggling beneath her skin, and go to sleep for an undisclosed amount of time. Being forced to spend time with half-a-witch of all people was the last thing she needed, but unfortunately (despite popular belief) she had no intention of letting anybody get their shit kicked in by blistering hot water.

She began to scan the ground beneath them for decent cover, and felt relief when a small, overhanging stone structure came into view. It’d be crude, but it would suffice. “Alright leaf-girl,” she turned to say, “we’re gonna have to land. I’d prefer we not get roasted to death.”

Willow nodded, “Sounds good…”

Boscha didn’t bother keeping the conversation afloat, she simply grunted and aimed the staff downward to bring them gently towards the ground. When their feet touched the damp forest floor, she quickly hopped off and shoved the staff back into Willow’s arms. “We’re gonna be stuck here for a while, so you’d better get comfortable.” Her gaze shifted towards Willow’s wounded ankle and she noted the awkward stance the younger witch took to avoid putting weight on the broken appendage.“Well… as comfortable as you _can_ get, I guess,” she added with toothy snark.

“Right…” Willow glanced up and gave Boscha a look which the triclops couldn’t easily decipher. “Are your parents going to worry? Do you have a scroll or a raven to contact them?”

Boscha scoffed. “My mom is a piece of work. She won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Oh…Sorry.” Willow’s apologetic response was both unnecessary and vexing.

There were an endless number of ways to piss Boscha off, but near the very top of that list was poorly disguised pity. Willow’s voice had grown softer and her eyes behind those giant glasses held a gentle sort of understanding. Boscha’s lips parted in a snarl, then without thinking she grabbed the collar of Willow’s cowl and sneered. “I don’t appreciate your tone,” she warned. “Don’t fucking patronize me.”

Willow’s face blanched and her hands shot quickly upwards, waving frantically and alarmed. “N-no that’s not…! I didn’t mean anything, I just… I dunno…”

Boscha glared daggers so sharp the girl’s lenses should’ve shattered; she didn’t take kindly to empty platitudes. But seeing the way Willow shrank back when grabbed was almost enough to extinguish her short fuse. “I can’t help but notice,” Boscha began dangerously, “that you’re obnoxiously full of yourself when you’re with the dimwit squad, and docile as a goddamned snaggleback when I have you alone… What’s up with that?”

Willow tilted her head with visible confusion. “Full of myself? How do you mean?”

“Like…” she clicked her tongue in annoyance. “You get all… confident and whatnot.”

Willow’s expression hardened as her ears twitched irritably and her brows furrowed, “So what you’re saying,” she spoke with a thick and unamused cadence, “is that it’s harder to bully me when I have friends to back me up?”

Well… that may have been accurate, but Boscha didn’t like to admit it. She released the collar she’d balled into an iron grip and rolled her eyes. “Whatever, forget it. Just sit down and shut up. We have a storm to wait out.”

Willow sighed, and Boscha couldn’t help but notice she sounded vaguely annoyed. Not that she cared of course, treehugger could be as annoyed as she wanted to be — she’d just saved her ass. Willow’s welfare didn’t matter beyond not getting scalded to a burning crisp by the steadily worsening rain.

Boscha took off her school bag and set it down beneath their make-do shelter. She followed suit by sitting beside it and resting her head against the chilly stone; or rather, aggressively banging her head against it by accident and swearing in both agitation and pain. She groaned and rubbed the sore spot, only to catch Willow watching her with an infuriating and stupid grin. “What are you looking at?” Boscha grimaced, and _gently_ leaned her head back against the rock.

“Nothing…” Willow answered, “I’ve just never seen you so… frazzled. You’re usually so… I dunno, put together?” When she didn’t get an immediate answer or any rude retaliation, Willow followed Boscha’s lead and sat down beneath the overhanging rock. She winced as she slid to the forest floor, her ankle no doubt barking in pain. “I mean, I know you got heated after the grudgby game but…” Boscha let out a huff of air, “that felt… different. It doesn’t feel weird to see you act belligerent, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you stressed out.”

Boscha closed her eyes and rocked her head back against the rock — this time, it was very much intentional — she pretended not to notice the way Willow’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t know what to talk about, or how to talk to Willow, but she knew it wasn’t anything she particularly felt like doing. She slowly opened her third eye a crack, and peeked out from beneath the rock; the boiling rain had begun to fall in an amount which would’ve seriously sucked to fly through. Pretty soon, it’d begin to shower with dangerous intensity. She begrudgingly noticed the tightness in her chest as the anxiety began to return. 

Boscha resolved to remain quiet and hoped to Titan that Willow would do the same. If they both shut their mouths and closed their eyes, maybe it would almost feel as though she were alone. Which, as her heartbeat began to quicken and her breathing felt tense, was all she really wanted. 

“Boscha…?”

But of course, the young potions-witch wasn't allowed to have nice things. She bared her fangs toward the younger girl and narrowed her gaze. “Yes, half-a-witch?”

“Um…” Willow twiddled her thumbs and sheepishly scratched at the back of her neck. “Why _did_ you offer me a ride?”

“Oh _gods,_ ” Boscha groaned. “For fuc— UGH.” She sat up and fixed Willow with the most humorless, hardass glare she could manage. “First of all, I recall asking you not to say jack on that front.” Despite putting on her routine act of apathy and poise, she dreaded the feeling which once more began to rear its ugly head, in spite of her previous attempts to suppress it. “S-second,” she cringed at the manner in which her voice wavered, “is it genuinely surprising that I’d choose to save someone from _agonizing injury??_ ” She took a deep breath and looked out into the rain. “I mean… You were lying in the dirt, injured, blubbering like a stupid baby. Would have to be psychotic not to offer you a ride…”

Willow stared for much longer than she might’ve intended, and for some damning reason, Boscha actually shied away from her gaze. An indescribable awkward tension filled the space around them before Willow finally had the mind to say something. “Oh well… Th-thank you again… I just meant, I probably would have managed. I-I mean… It’s a little too late now, since the rain is so heavy, but I could’ve maybe whipped up some sorta plant umbrella to limp to the nearest store… or something.”

 _Oh,_ The gears in Boscha’s mind stopped turning and she took a short moment to curse herself, _Did I seriously fucking forget she could do that… I swear I’m such a—_

“Boscha…?” Willow’s soft and sweet voice brought the triclops out of her self-deprecating train of thought. She hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t bother to say or do anything else. “Er… wanna play a game?”

Usually that question might warrant mockery or hyperbolic disbelief, but frankly, she was too tired to care. That, and on the cusp of an anxiety attack.

Willow, likely taking the silence as a no, jumped to rectifying the situation. “I mean, we don’t have to, I just figured since we’re stuck here for a while… Maybe we could try to pass the time?” She sounded hopeful in her explanation, yet timid. “Sorry, you look like you want to be left alone, that’s fine we can just—”

“—s-sure.”

Willow, shocked, allowed her mouth to fall open and Boscha tried not to feel self conscious under her intense and questioning gaze. “What? R-really?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Boscha raised a fist to wearily rub her tired eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Okay uh… twenty questions?”

Boscha soundlessly nodded in agreement and watched as Willow practically shook with excitement. She just barely caught herself thinking that, _Huh, her smile is kinda cute…_ Before deliberately knocking her skull against the painful rocky surface of their shelter once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this story is gonna be a little longer than I'd originally planned? I was hesitant to make it anything serious since I had another project to work on, but the person I was working on it with has gone on a little hiatus which means that whole thing is on pause. Which gives me time to work on this so.. Yay for slowburn.


	3. Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boscha and Willow play twenty questions

A few rounds into twenty questions, Boscha realized the rain hadn’t gotten any lighter. In fact, if anything, it was only growing worse. At first, she’d needed to fight away the seething agitation which begged her to punch Willow and throw herself into the boiling storm, but admittedly… The game was a pretty decent distraction. Thus far, Willow had successfully guessed Emperor Belos, a glass of apple blood, Hexside, and had missed the mark on guessing ‘Moonlight Conjuring’ and Grudgby.

“Okay okay,” the plants-witch giggled. “My turn to come up with something for you guess.”

“Shoot.” Boscha nodded expectantly.

Willow tapped her chin in thought and drummed her pudgy digits against the damp dirt beneath them. Her eyes lit up behind her lenses and she smiled eagerly. Boscha wouldn’t ever dare admit it (she hadn’t even fully admitted it to herself,) but Willow’s dorky excitement was rather contagious; impressive as well, considering the strain her injured ankle was no doubt putting on her. “I have a good one, strap in” she proudly announced. “Okay… go.”

“Uhhhh,” Boscha blinked. At the start of the game, it was always best to go broad. “Is it an inanimate object?” Willow shook her head no. “Okay, is it a person?” The answer was yes. “Is it a fictional character?” Willow once again, shook her head no. “Okay… Real person then… Hm.”

“Seventeen questions remaining,” Willow helpfully chimed.

“Right, um… Is it someone famous?”

Willow hummed and glanced away for a moment of thought. “I guess…? Sorta? In a way.”

Boscha’s third eye narrowed in on Willow and glared in annoyance while her dominant two squinted in confusion. “Sorta? The hell is that supposed to mean?”

The younger witch shrugged innocently. “Can’t tell you that, silly. Keep going though.”

Resisting the urge to bear her fangs, Boscha rolled her eyes and continued onward. “Is it someone I know?”

“Definitely.”

“Hexside student?”

“Yup.”

That out of the way, Boscha knew an excellent way to narrow the options down. “Is it somebody I like?”

Willow looked all too pleased by that. She snickered and nodded; her face painted by amusement. “Oh, it’s someone you _adore._ ”

“… Shit.” That actually made it much harder than a simple yes or no. Boscha could work with a no, and a yes would’ve given her the game since only a handful of Hexside students didn’t make her wanna claw her skin off but… _adoration?_ That was a strong word. “Sk-Skara…?” Adoration was a hefty claim to make about her feelings toward the young bard, but she was one of the least intolerable people she knew.

“Nope.” 

“Half-a-Witch, I swear to fucking Titan if the answer is Blight I’m gonna—”

“It’s not Amity,” Willow interrupted. She looked put off by the sudden rise in Boscha’s aggression levels, but in the triclops’ defense… Amity was a touchy subject. “Also you have eleven more questions.”

“Gods,” Boscha huffed. “Okay, are they… Er… S-smart?” She hesitated, unsure if the answer would help, but evidently she needed more information before making another guess.

Willow grinned, “Yeah I’d say so. I have no reason to suspect otherwise.”

Well that didn’t help at all.

“Are they… brave? I dunno,” Boscha shrugged, “I might be grasping at straws here.”

“For sure. In fact, that’s one of few things I can confidently say I know about them.”

“Hey flowers, do _you_ even know who you’re talking about? Cause I sure don’t.” Boscha crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow skeptically. “A famous, brave, smart, Hexside student whom I adore? Nothing’s coming to mind.”

“You wanna give up?” Willow teased.

Boscha grumbled and shook her head, “No, no. Shut up, lemme think… Are they… Older than me?”

“No.”

“Younger?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking _what?_ ” Boscha couldn’t keep her fangs hidden this time as frustration bubbled to the surface. Her ears twitched irritably and her claws dug into the ground. “Willow, did you hit your head when you crashed or…?”

Willow’s mouth fell open and she stared at the bully with obnoxious surprise.

Several tense moments passed before the potions-witch barked, “What? Spit it out.”

“Nothing just…” She straightened her glasses and offered a tiny, lopsided smile. “You… called me by my name is all.” She cleared her throat and looked away bashfully. “You don’t do that very often.”

Boscha’s first instinct was to ask what Willow was on about, but even a split second of self reflection was all it took to realize she meant the colorful cavalcade of (at best) dismissive nicknames Boscha was partial to using. Upon grasping this, she shut her mouth and leaned back against the rock. “Yeah, okay… Whatever. Let’s get on with the stupid game.” She peered out from beneath their shelter and noted that the rain was, unfortunately, still going strong. She had half a mind to curse the Isles for choosing today of all days for a boiling downpour.

She clicked her tongue and rolled through a few potentially helpful questions in her head. “Are they… I don’t know… Are they good looking?” Maybe there was a beautiful, intelligent and notoriously brave student her age she’d magically forgotten the existence of.

Willow squinted and silently seemed to consider the answer _very_ carefully. Boscha watched, intrigued, as Willow mulled over the physical appeal of the mysterious and alleged Hexside student. She looked at Boscha and their eyes met. “Y’know, I hadn’t ever thought about it before but… Yeah, I’d say so. They’re very pretty.”

“Wh-” Boscha was so, utterly, beyond confused.

“You have six more questions.” Willow informed, a smug look of victory already visible.

Among the many loathsome quirks which Boscha hated about herself was her inability to respectfully accept a loss with grace and poise. Even while fully aware that she was allowing herself to become competitive, she couldn’t quench the desire to destroy Willow’s satisfied smirk. That said… she was at a loss. It pissed her off, for sure, but she couldn’t bear to be in the dark any longer. “Okay, wipe that dumbass look off your mug. You win, now who is it?”

If the answer was someone any less than magnificent; a (sorta?) famous, beautiful, valiant, and clever individual who, according to Willow, was worthy of her adoration…

Boscha was prepared to be intensely disappointed.

“It’s you, dummy.” Willow flashed a toothy look; her teeny little fangs becoming visible for a short instant. “Heh, nobody ever guesses themselves.”

“Huh?” An uncharacteristically flabbergasted Boscha sputtered.

“You. The answer is Boscha Vantas.” Willow spoke with a gentle voice and an enthused thumbs up.

“I… You… I-I mean…” Boscha’s mental processes came to a deadly halt and she found herself unable to form a coherent thought. Aside of course, that her first question should’ve been _are they an angry bitch?_

“Clever, right?”

“Um…” Her chest felt tight as she ran over the clues again in her head. Famous? Well… locally, maybe. Intelligent? Boscha hadn’t ever considered herself particularly smart. Brave? She’d laugh if she weren’t so shellshocked. There’s nothing brave about someone who lashes out and de-stresses by mutilating themselves. There’s nothing brave about someone who goes to school, autopilots through the day, and lays in bed until their fuzzy mind forces them to sleep. There’s nothing brave about being trapped under a rock with someone you’ve mercilessly tortured and becoming catatonic the second they say something positive about you. A dry lump formed in Boscha’s throat — it threatened to choke her. She swallowed it down.

“You uh… You okay there Boscha?” Willow leaned forward and tilted her head like a confused puppy. She winced, having accidentally put weight on her ankle. “Ow…! Whoops…”

It wasn’t right, that she was showing concern. Boscha didn’t deserve her concern.

“Somebody, I adore?” The triclops asked, hoarse. She needed Willow to elaborate.

“Well um… I dunno, you always exude such confidence. You’ve done some not-so-great things, but I have always admired the way you carry yourself,” Willow carefully admitted. “And you speak so highly of yourself, so-”

 _They’re all lies,_ Boscha thought. _I’m so godsdamn fake, Titan why is she looking at me like that… Shit shit shit—_

A single thought rushed into her startled mind:

_I need to leave._

Without a word, Boscha grabbed her belongings and stood up. Willow’s green eyes followed her movements with intense worry, and that only made Boscha feel worse. _I’m not brave,_ she told herself, _I’m running away._ She grit her teeth and turned around, shut her eyes, and ran into the rains.

Through the haze of her nervous breakdown she barely registered the pain each drop of broiling liquid brought, nor the shocked shouts of a certain someone yelling after her to stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I meant to work on this much much earlier, but it never ended up happening. Oh well. Today was kinda shitty and writing about Boscha hating herself is kinda cathartic lmao.
> 
> I'll try to have the next chapter out a lot sooner than this one.


End file.
